


we got a good thing goin'

by AugustaByron



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Babies, Fluff, Gen, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6541984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustaByron/pseuds/AugustaByron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kent Parson has a baby. Jack is the last to know, possibly in North America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we got a good thing goin'

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless fluff. I know nothing about Montreal, so please excuse anything that I get blatantly wrong. Set in the summer after Jack's first NHL season. 
> 
> Title from The Rolling Stones: Oh Baby (We Got a Good Thing Goin')

Jack steps out of the shower and contemplates going back to bed. He could. It's the offseason, and his first day home. He already went for his morning run, and now he wants to sprawl out in his childhood room and nap in the sun, at least until his mom gets home from breakfast with her friends.

And he can. In fact, he's going to. Bitty keeps telling him he needs to relax once in a while.

Jack squares his shoulders, wraps the towel firmly around his waist, and marches forth to chill.

He almost makes it, too, before the doorbell rings. Jack pauses at the top of the stairs, caught. Maybe he can just ignore it. That wouldn't be too rude. His dad's out of town until tomorrow, so it's not like it's a visitor for him. And his mom has her phone, so it wouldn't be for her. And Jack can't think of anyone who knows he's even here, except Bitty.

It rings again. And again. Jack gives up the ghost and hurries to tug on a pair of shorts before he rushes downstairs and yanks open the door of his parents' house, just as the doorbell rings again.

Kent Parson is on the porch, disheveled in a stained pink shirt and creased khaki shorts. There are enormous bags under his eyes. His cowlick is sticking straight up like an antenna, and Jack smothers the instinctive urge to make fun of him for it. Old habits die hard.

“Oh, thank God. Where's Mama Zimms?” Kent demands, like he isn't the one who turned up out of the blue.

“Stop calling her that,” Jack says automatically, like that has ever worked. And then he registers that Kent isn't wearing a pink shirt after all. He blinks, as if that will make the image in front of him make sense.

“Well, are you going to move, or are you going to leave us out in the sun all day?” Parse asks, pissy. He's got his hands on his hips.

“Uh,” Jack manages, and steps aside. “Kent, do you have a baby?”

“Duh,” Parse says, coming inside and kicking off his shoes. The baby is an indistinct lump in the pink sling. “Why the hell do you think I need to see your mom? She's teething. This is the longest she's been quiet in four days, and I'm pretty sure that's just because she cried herself into exhaustion. I need reinforcements.”

Jack has several questions, but they can wait. He's seen that crazed, sleep-deprived look on Kent's face before, and it does not bode well. “I'll make the coffee,” he decides.

“Yes, you will,” Kent says. “And seriously, where's your mom? Not that it's not great to see you, Zimms, but I have priorities.”

 

Jack waits until Kent has had an entire mug of coffee before he starts asking.

“So,” Jack says. He is the most confused about how Parse has obtained a baby at all. “Are you still--”

“Still a gold star gay, dude,” Kent says. He holds out his mug and Jack refills it mutely. “She's Candy's, biologically.”

“Ah.” That makes marginally more sense. Kent's twin sister at least has a uterus. “And you're babysitting?”

“No, man, she's mine.” Kent looks down at the bundle in the sling with an unbearably soft expression on his face. “Can you imagine Candy trying to raise a kid? She'd, like, forget where she put it down all the time. So I adopted her.”

As far as Jack knows, Candy is still a professional stuntwoman and personal trainer. He can't even picture her holding a baby, much less raising one. She is not the warmest person. Of course, Jack could be biased. He's not sure that anyone has ever hated him as much as Candace Parson.

Jack moves on to more pressing matters. “And you need to see my mom because?”

“She is teething,” Parse hisses. “I need advice. Mom advice.”

“Why didn't you just call your mom?”

“I did,” Kent says. “But she just told me, and I quote, to rub some whiskey on the critter's gums. And when I told her that I wasn't about that, she just went on this huge rant about how it was good enough for six generations of Parson lumberjacks, and good enough for me and Candy, and she has no idea how she's the one who brought such weak children into the gene pool, so I just kind of hung up.”

Jack considers the facts. He has met Kent's mother. He pours himself a cup of coffee. “My mom should be home soon.”

“Excellent,” Kent says, and slumps in his chair. A look of sheer terror immediately crosses his face. “Oh no. No, no, no, no. I'm so sorry, Jack.”

Before Jack can ask what he's sorry about, an unearthly wail pierces the air. He stares in horror at the bundle. Kent stands up and carefully extracts the baby from the sling. He starts pacing the kitchen and bouncing her gently, but the crying continues unabated.

“Please, sweetheart, can you can it for like a second?” Parse begs the baby. “I will buy you a pony, two ponies, so many ponies, I swear to you, if you just stop crying.”

Jack makes an executive decision. He holds out his arms and says, “Give her to me.”

“Dude.” Kent recoils. “She's got some quality lungs, your eardrums will not thank you.”

“You smell like baby vomit,” Jack says. “You need to take a shower or I'm making you wait in the yard. Just pass her over, eh?”

With great reluctance, Parse passes the baby over. Jack has about a second to register that he was right, it is much worse up close, before the crying stops. The baby stares up at Jack. She's got wisps of blond hair, very blue eyes, and Kent's nose. Well, Candy's nose. It's the same nose, Jack guesses.

“How,” Parse breathes. “How? Are you—you're magic, you're her other dad now, we'll just live here with you forever.”

Jack adjusts his hold on the baby, trying to cradle her the way Kent was. She beams up at him, and babbles happily, waving one pudgy fist in the air. “Go. Shower. I swear I'll hose you down in the driveway if you don't.”

“I love you,” Kent mutters as he stumbles past Jack on his way to the stairs. “I'm serious, baby, let's try and make this work.”

“Clean clothes in my dresser,” Jack calls to Kent's retreating form. Then he's alone with Parse's daughter. What to do?

The baby kicks at him with one tiny foot. Her socks have flowers on them.

“You want to watch some Ken Burns?”

 

Parse reappears halfway through an episode of Ken Burns' baseball documentary. Jack is narrating the action to the baby, and she seems pretty interested. Jack figures he's pretty good with kids.

“What are you saying?” Kent demands, paranoid as always about anyone speaking French. “Are you turning my kid against me?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “It's a language, not a secret code, Parse.”

“So you say.” Kent collapses on the other end of the sectional and groans. He's wearing a pair of Jack's workout shorts and a Samwell tee. The shirt, Jack is startled to realize, is a little small around the shoulders.

“What's her name?” Jack nods down to the baby. “You didn't name her after yourself, did you?”

“Ha ha.” Kent pulls a face. “No. Her name is Jackie.”

Jack freezes. He experiences about three seconds of absolute, soul-crushing panic before Parse bursts into laughter.

“Jesus Christ, dude, you should have seen your face.” Kent chuckles to himself for another moment, while Jack's heart slows down to its normal speed, then says, “Nah, her name is Kris. Kristen Victoria Parson.”

“So your initials are the same.” Jack smirks, but Kent just shrugs, seemingly unabashed. “She seems to like me.”

“No idea why,” Kent says, cheerfully. “Can't be genetics. Candy wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire.”

“Nurture over nature?” Jack suggests. Kent pulls an exaggerated thoughtful face.

“Nah, that can't be it, because then I would have to think you weren't an asshat.”

Parse is only saved from an epic purple nurple because Jack has a baby in his arms, and because that's when his mom gets home.

 

Alicia Zimmermann has prepared for a baby in the house. Unbeknownst to Jack, she and Kent have apparently been talking almost every day since Kris was born.

“What was I going to do, leave him to ask his mother?” Alicia asks. She's putting the pink baby sling and a few soiled onesies into the washing machine. Kent has been sent to take a nap. Jack is still holding Kris, because she screams whenever he puts her down. “It's a miracle that Kent and Candy survived to adulthood.”

“Why didn't you tell me he had a kid?” Jack asks. He strokes a finger down Kris's cheek. He's never been around babies much before. He had no idea they were so soft.

“I assumed you knew,” Alicia says. “It's been all over the hockey news. Of course, most people don't know where she came from. Oh! I forgot to ask, does Eric have anything special he'd like to eat when he gets here?”

Jack can't help the reflexive smile at the question. He doesn't want to help it. Bitty's flying up the day after tomorrow, and they're spending a week in Montreal before they go to the summer house in Nova Scotia for a while, just the two of them.

“He's not picky. Something with plenty of protein, though. He cheats a lot in the summer.”

“You could stand to cheat a little more yourself,” Alicia says, indulgent. “That boy is good for you.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. He glances down at Kris, fast asleep in his arms. “I know.”

 

“I'm starting to get a complex over here,” Kent complains. He and Jack have been kicked out of the house for the afternoon with a mini-cooler full of iced teething rings and instructions to enjoy themselves. Kris is wrapped in the now-clean sling, which is in turn wrapped around Jack. “My kid likes you better than me.”

“She's got good taste,” Jack says. Kent is pushing the empty stroller. The rack underneath holds the packed diaper bag and the cooler with its bounty of frozen rings. Kris is currently drooling around one, happy as can be.

“She's seven months old, douchebag, she doesn't know anything yet. You're a damn baby hog, is what you are.” The insult lacks punch. Kent is refreshed from his nap, and he's peering at the flowers around them with interest, even though earlier he deemed the botanical gardens “chick stuff.”

“You're going to have to get used to chick stuff, Kent Parson, you have a daughter now,” Alicia scowled at him, back at the house.

“Aww, Mama Zimms, that's not what I meant,” Parse whined. That's probably why they got kicked out with the baby, come to think of it. Before that, Jack's mom was going to keep Kris while he and Parse went out on their own.

Jack doesn't mind. Kris seems to like being outside, and her floppy sunhat, and her watermelon-print romper. She keeps cooing up at Jack and trying to grab his sunglasses, anyway. He figures that means she's happy enough.

“She's a good baby,” Jack offers, not sure exactly what to say. He hasn't hung out with Parse in a long time, not without anger between them. There's no place for that here, among all the flowers, with other families enjoying the summer around them.

“She's the best,” Kent says. “God, it like, knocks me out, right? She's so great. Anyway, I've got to win another Cup while she's still little so I can stick her in it. Can you imagine the picture? The one I have of the cat in the Cup is good, and Kris is even cuter.”

“How about I win the Cup and you can visit on my Cup day,” Jack jokes. He's half expecting Kent to get bent out of shape, but instead he just laughs.

“Sold,” Kent says. “Can we go to the insect house? I have a feeling that Kris will like bugs.”

 

“So how's your boy?” Parse asks, when they're driving back to Jack's house. It was a good afternoon. The only hairy moment came when Kris needed a diaper change and they had to scramble to find a family washroom in time. She's asleep now, tucked into her carseat.

Kent is driving like a maniac. He's somehow better at Montreal traffic than Jack is, even though Jack learned how to drive here, and Kent learned to drive in his hometown, where all the roads are dirt.

“What do you mean?” Jack waits to panic, but he doesn't. It was a good day. He and Kent ate ice cream cones and a butterfly landed on Kris's hat. It feels, Jack thinks, the way it might if he and Kent had stayed friends for real. They've always been good at summertime.

“I mean how's your boyfriend? The cute short guy.”

“He's good. He's coming to visit soon, and then we're going to Providence for the rest of the summer. Did my mom tell you I was dating?” Jack can't imagine that Kent figured it out on his own. He's never been the most observant about things that don't directly concern him.

Kent just snorts a short laugh. “She wasn't exactly worried about outing you, man. She's the one who gave me all those condoms when we went camping that time.”

That is new and horrifying information, and Jack takes a moment to be mortified. When he's done with that, he realizes he hasn't said anything. The silence seems loaded, somehow. Jack waits for Parse to break it.

Parse doesn't take his eyes off the road, but Jack feels like he's being looked at, examined, anyway. At last Kent says, “I'm happy for you, you know. You deserve something good.”

The warmth in Jack's chest grows. It's so much easier to be happy now than it was. He never could have had this kind of day a year ago, before he and Bitty got together.

“You do too, Kenny.”

The grin that blooms across Kent's face is like a shot from the past. Jack hasn't seen it since before the draft. It makes sense here, in this car, with the summer sun overhead. The two of them—the three of them.

“I've already got my good thing, Zimms.”

Jack glances at the back seat. Yeah, he does.

 

The group chat blows up a little after dinner, while Kent is giving Kris her bottle and Jack's mom is sanitizing the teething rings. Ransom and Holster are in stitches about something, and texting about “the return of the fanfic.” Shitty is railing on about media attention of male nurturers. Jack decides to call in the expert.

“Hi, honey,” Bitty says. There's laughter in his voice. It's amazing. Jack flops back onto the couch and aches for Bitty to be here with him. He always does. “You had a busy day.”

“What do you know?” Jack knew there had to be a reason for Ransom and Holster to be so excited.

“You and Kent Parson were spotted out and about in Montreal. Wait, let me find the article, the headline's--” Bitty clears his throat. “ 'Jack Zimmermann hangs out with Kent Parson and Baby Parse, ovaries everywhere explode.' Is he wearing your shirt?”

“ _Mon Dieu_.” Jack should have expected this. It's fine, though. Everyone knows that he and Kent played together in Juniors. Jack got asked about their 'rivalry' a thousand times this season.

“The pictures are adorable. I didn't know he was coming to visit,” Bitty says. “Do I get to meet the baby? She's even cuter than I expected.”

“I don't know how long he's staying. Probably.” If this morning was typical, Kent needs the backup. “Did you know he had a baby?”

“Oh, darling.” Bitty laughs. “It's been all over the internet for months.”

Apparently Jack needs to pay more attention. Maybe he should have Bitty brief him.

Kent and Kris come into the room, Kris slung over Kent's shoulder. Kris isn't yelling yet, but she's starting to fuss, making frustrated noises.

“Is that your boy? Trade,” Kent says, and passes Jack the baby. She's a warm, solid weight against him, and Jack has no choice but to let Parse tug the phone out of his hand.

“Hi. Eric, right?” Kent waits, presumably listening to Bitty, and then asks, “What are you doing this summer? Do you have a job?”

Jack has no idea where this is going. Kris, calming down now, doesn't seem to know either. Jack gives her his finger to suck on in lieu of a teething ring.

“One of my teammates is from Providence, and he needs someone to run social media for his foundation in July and August. He does a summer camp for kids from the inner city, teaches them hockey, gives them equipment, that sort of thing. It's a paid internship.” Parse pauses again, and then laughs. “I follow you on Twitter, dude. You make hanging out with Zimms sound moderately interesting, so you can clearly do anything.”

“I'm going to turn your baby against you,” Jack threatens, and Kent ignores him.

“Yeah, send me your résumé, I'll pass it on. Or send it to Zimms, whatever. I'll talk to you later.” He gives Jack back the phone, but doesn't take Kris.

Jack raises his eyebrows, but Kent shakes his head.

“Dude, this is the first baby-free moment I've had in like a week, and you're a freaking baby whisperer. I think she's got a soft spot for dumbasses. I'm going for a run.” Kent leans down and kisses Kris on the forehead. “Daddy loves you, he just also needs to stay sane.”

And with that, he's out the door. Jack stares after him for a second, and then remembers himself.

“Hi,” he says to Bitty. “Sorry about that.”

“Did Kent Parson really just offer me a job?” Bitty sounds winded. Jack can sympathize. Kent is somebody's dad. It's been a day for surprises.

“Sometimes he jumps out at you.”

Bitty hums thoughtfully. “You looked awfully good in those pictures, Mr. Zimmermann,” he says, low and inviting. Jack currently has an infant gumming his finger, though, so it's not as appealing as it usually is.

“Do you ever think about having kids?” Jack asks.

“Well, not now!” Bitty laughs. “Why? Is your biological clock ticking, honey?”

“Not right now,” Jack says. It's way too early for this kind of talk. He knows that.

“But someday?” Bitty asks. Gentle. Jack can't wait to see him.

Jack looks down at Kris, with the Parson eyes and nose. He pictures Bitty holding a dark-haired baby, somewhere in the nebulous future.

“Someday,” Jack agrees.

 


End file.
